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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27001936">A Fair Trade</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MAAS33/pseuds/MAAS33'>MAAS33</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Embarrassed Mycroft, F/M, Platonic! Sherlock/Reader, Sherlock is a bad influence, one bad word</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:48:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,164</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27001936</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MAAS33/pseuds/MAAS33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock needs something from Mycroft and the reader is full of bad ideas.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mycroft Holmes/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>149</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Fair Trade</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, like most of my works, this is super self-indulgent. No beta, this is the hill I die on.</p><p>Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why are you looking at me like that?” I looked over the edge of my book at Sherlock sitting in the armchair across from me.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No reason,” he muttered and moved his phone down into his lap. He looked at the screen before glancing up again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John was out for the day so I had come from 221 C to visit with Sherlock. However, once I arrived I realized he was in the middle of working on a case, so I relented to reading on the couch and being moral support. Now he toggled between staring at me and the phone and it finally clicked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did you take a picture of me?” I asked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” he mused not looking at me.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why are you taking pictures, Sherlock?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I need something from my brother,” he stated matter of factly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So you need pictures of me because-?,” I began.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh don’t be slow, y/n. My brother is infatuated with you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I scoffed at the detective. “And I’m the Queen.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I rolled my eyes. I had only met Mycroft a handful of times when I popped in on John and Sherlock, and every time he had been in a foul mood.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Trust me, y/n. I know my brother more than I’d like to.” He aimed his phone at me again. “So would you please go back to ignoring me so I can tease Mycroft for a moment.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your brother doesn’t like me, Sherlock. Didn’t he say caring was a disadvantage or something like that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, but he can obsess. And while I’m sure he’s already found your social media, he’s more fond of candid shots.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You think he’s obsessed with me?” I laughed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know he is now can you just-,” he tried to finish but I cut him off.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” I stated as a bad idea began to churn in my mind. I got up from the couch, heading for my flat downstairs. Before Sherlock could argue, I stopped in the middle of the doorway to the stairs. “If you’re going to tease your brother, you’re going to need better material. I’ll be right back.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">—————</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When I returned to the flat upstairs, Sherlock chuckled softly and reached for his phone on the table. I wore black spandex shorts and a long sleeve that slid off my shoulders; the sort of thing I would lounge around in my own flat. While it wasn’t risqué, it was more revealing than my sweater and jeans I was wearing before.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I lay back on the couch on my side, pulling my book off the table and cracking it open again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Have at it,” I encouraged.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You need to at least try to look natural. He may not be as bright as I am, but even he has eyes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well pose me then,” I suggested.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The detective huffed and stood, walking over to me. With rough hands he maneuvered me so that I was on my stomach. He handed the book back before pulling my shirt up in the back to reveal the shorts more.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Arch your back. Good. Don’t move,” he said and fell back into the armchair.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I had to bite my tongue so I wouldn’t laugh and instead concentrated on actually reading the book. I didn’t know why I was encouraging him, but the thought of a flustered Mycroft made me giddy. While I’d only see him when he berated his brother, there was something about him I liked. Maybe I was attracted to his dominant energy. I shook my head at the thought, hiding the blush on my cheeks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t move!” Sherlock chastised as he angled the camera again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You have to have gotten a good one by now,” I whined rolling over.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I suppose it will do.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What do you want from Mycroft anyway?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Clearance.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“For what exactly?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing you need to worry about,” he stated before setting his phone down. I rolled my eyes and then sat up properly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well let me know if you get a fair trade. Tea?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh please,” he said eagerly. “And do watch out for the head.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The head?” I asked as I opened the fridge to get the milk and let out a screech at the severed head inside. “Sherlock, honestly, what the fuck?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s an experiment,” he explained as if it was the most normal thing in the world.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I grabbed the milk and set it on the counter before filling the kettle. “I feel so bad for John,” I mumbled.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What was that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">—————</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I hadn’t been over to see the boys for a few days and decided I would stop by. I had spent the early hours of the morning baking out of boredom and quickly realized I had made more than I could eat on my own. Perfect timing, I thought as I packed a tray for John and Sherlock.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good morning boys!” I sang as I entered the flat upstairs carrying the tray of biscuits. “I over-baked again.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good morning, y/n,” John said from the kitchen. “Would you care for tea?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’d be lovely. Thank you John!” I turned the corner and saw Sherlock staring into the bright light of the computer screen. He didn’t look up even as I set two biscuits on his plate, but shoved one into his mouth absentmindedly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I shook my head with a laugh and met John in the kitchen.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How long has he been like that?” I asked as he handed me a cup of tea.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Since Mycroft sent him some documents earlier. He told me to tell you thanks by the way, though I’m not sure why,” he said as we both stared at the detective.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, so I guess he was right,” I mused.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right about what?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sherlock essentially traded pictures of me for stuff from Mycroft,” I said with a shrug.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John nearly spit out his tea. “Pardon?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Speaking of which,” Sherlock suddenly spoke up. “I will need to take more if you don’t mind, y/n. Mycroft’s made a few requests.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Has he now?!” John asked in disbelief.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I sighed and set the cup down on the counter and walked over to where Sherlock sat. “Call your brother, Sherlock.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sitting on the edge of the desk, I looked down and spied Sherlock’s confused face. I raised my eyebrow at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Call him and hand me the phone,” I ordered playfully, a sly grin breaking out across my face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Intrigued, Sherlock did as I asked. I waited for the call to go through before I heard Mycroft’s voice on the other end.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What is it, brother mine?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If you want pictures of me, you’re just going to have to take them yourself,” I taunted.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">First there was silence and I could picture the older Holmes gaping like a fish. After what felt like hours, he started trying to explain but he kept uncharacteristically tripping over his own words. Hearing the Ice Man sputter on the line was the highlight of my day and I had to stop myself from laughing at his embarrassment.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know where to find me. Bye bye Mycroft,” I continued before ending the call and handing the phone back to Sherlock. He didn’t bother hiding his smirk.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think you’ve become a bad influence on me,” I laughed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I agree!” John called from the kitchen.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">—————</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nearly a week later, I found myself visiting the boys again. When the door opened, I was greeted by an annoyed John.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Everything alright?” I eyed him warily worried about what Sherlock might have done this time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Lots of guests today,” he murmured, but opened the door anyway revealing Mycroft and Sherlock staring daggers at each other.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So I see. Should I come back later?” I whispered but John ushered me in before I could turn around. Sherlock saw me and turned which drew Mycroft’s attention as well, his demeanor immediately changing and his body stiffening at the sight of me.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry, I’ll leave you be,” I said awkwardly as I headed to the door again. I may have enjoyed taunting Mycroft, but before I had the phone as my buffer, and now he was right in front of me. I was not normally a shy person, but with him I felt a bit timid and desperately wanted to shake the feeling.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Go on then, Mycroft. Get your camera,” Sherlock hissed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sherlock!” He growled out, red in the face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s fine, Mycroft,” I laughed trying to diffuse the situation, elbowing him gently. “I don’t mind.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John just shook his head and took a seat in the arm chair ignoring us all. Clearing his throat, Mycroft grabbed his umbrella and started out.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Until next time, Sherlock,” he said scurrying out of the room.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hopefully not anytime soon,” Sherlock shouted at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bring your list of requests next time and we can work something out,” I called out after him, my cheekiness returning as he left the room.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You two are terrible,” John groaned.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">—————</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That night as I lay in bed, my phone buzzed on the nightstand lighting up my room. I picked it up and saw a text from an unknown number.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Perhaps we might discuss that list over dinner? -MH</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Grinning, my fingers quickly typed out a response.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Perhaps we might. I’m free when you are.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">My heart fluttered in my chest at the attention from the generally stoic man. We would see what would happen and even nothing came from it, at least I could say I went on a date with the British government. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Good Game</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sherlock wants his flat mates to play a game, but Mycroft interrupts. How much can you really learn about someone from Truth or Dare anyway?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is not a sequel to the first chapter. It is a stand alone story but has the same tone as the first one so I went ahead and added it here. I hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The boys at Baker Street and I had found ourselves following an afternoon routine. I’d come by, usually with food, John would make tea, and Sherlock would make deductions about my day. Unless of course he was working on a case, then it was all about showing John and I evidence and making a show of how brilliant he was. Today, however, was a bit different. I had come, bearing takeaway, to find Sherlock organizing two stacks of cards on the coffee table. As I approached to set the bags of food down, I read the labels on the stacks: Truth and Dare.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A kids’ game?” I asked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He heard about it from Molly. She played it at a party. Said something about it being good for revealing things or something like that,” John explained.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I nodded and started settling the food for us. “Hungry Sherlock?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hmmm? Yes. Come select a card, Y/N.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I huffed, but agreed and reached out taking one from the Truth pile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Figured you’d pick truth,” Sherlock muttered into his hands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">While his attitude occasionally annoyed me, I did enjoy spending time with Sherlock and decided to go along with the game. I flipped the card and read the question.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What is your biggest regret?” I snorted. “Moving in downstairs to you two.” I put the card next to the pile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So cruel,” John laughed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How am I supposed to read you if you don’t play along?” Sherlock groaned.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am playing along,” I sighed and returned to the kitchen where John had already served himself. I made a plate for me and Sherlock before returning to the living room. Sherlock took the plate while looking at me expectantly. I knew he’d want a real answer, so I began thinking the answer over.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My biggest regret,” I started. “My biggest regret is not apologizing to my grandfather before he passed.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I suppose neither of the boys expected my answer judging by the looks they gave me. I had mentioned home once or twice, but I never went into much detail not that Sherlock asked. John probably figured I just didn’t want to talk about it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My grandfather and I never got along after I became a teenager. He was very old fashioned and I was not. I finally told him what an arse he was and that I never wanted to see him again. He didn’t speak to me, but after he passed away, I realized it was because I told him I didn’t want to see him. He left me a letter and now I just feel horrible about it all really.” I tried shrugging the bad feeling away as tears welled up in my eyes. “Ah well that’s enough of that. Let’s eat.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John gave me a reassuring look, telling me how sorry he was while Sherlock awkwardly pat my knee. “We’ll play after dinner.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, that sounds good.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">——</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After eating, John made his usual tea and we sat and played a little more for Sherlock’s amusement. Luckily, no more sad memories were brought up. I had a suspicion Sherlock took some cards out when John and I went to grab more tea. He hadn’t really made any deductions based on our answers, but I figured he was getting somewhere in that brain of his.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your turn again, John,” he gestured for his friend to pick a card.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hold on Sherlock,” John sighed. “I need to clean up.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll help you,” I offered and moved to the kitchen, stack of plates in hand. Sherlock huffed in annoyance and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the arm chair. A knock at the door startled all three of us. I went to the door quickly to answer and saw Mycroft standing on the other side.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh,” I muttered out. I had quite the obsession with Sherlock’s older brother, finding him handsome and domineering in his bespoke suites. It didn’t help that Sherlock knew about my little crush and told me how unfortunate my choice of partner was, though he promised not to tell. I hadn’t expected it to be him at the door and now I felt frozen. I was nearly at a loss for words, but quickly caught myself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hello Mycroft, come in,” I said stepping aside so he could enter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good evening,Y/N,” he greeted before finding a seat in the armchair across from Sherlock. I eyed him a second longer before scurrying back to the kitchen to help John.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sherlock, completely ignoring that his brother was right in front of him, called out to his flatmate. “John, it’s your turn!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Truth or Dare? Isn’t that a bit childish for you, brother mine?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’d be surprised what you can learn, Mycroft,” Sherlock spat. “John!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright!” The shorter man called and went over to the men seated, wiping his wet hands on his jeans. He ripped a card from the Truth pile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Greatest fear? Being alone I guess,” he answered quickly before dropping the card onto the table and returning to finish the dishes. I giggled at his frustration. Sometimes Sherlock was so demanding and John just went along with it. I shook my head and finished packing up the left overs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t see the point,” Mycroft continued as he eyed the cards, picking one up and reading it. “You already know all the answers to these questions. Ah, but I suppose,” he paused to read another card, “You want to hear how they’ll respond. It’s the wording that matters.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sherlock was silent for a moment before he finally answered. “What do you want, Mycroft? Here to get on my case?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I haven’t even given you the case,” Mycroft teasingly responded and handed a folder to Sherlock. He didn’t seem interested in taking it. Mycroft looked annoyed and lay the file down on the coffee table. “I insist you look over it, brother mine.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sherlock looked like he was forming a plan, his eyes moving from his brother, to the file, to me and it made me a bit nervous. Obviously, he wanted Mycroft out as soon as possible, but he probably wouldn’t leave until Sherlock read what was in the file. He reached down and I thought he’d given in and would do as his brother said. Instead, I saw him grab a card and giggled again. Poor Mycroft.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sherlock looked to be scribbling on the card before slipping it back onto a stack, but from my angle I couldn’t see which one he put it in. I was intrigued as to where this was going, confused at Sherlock’s actions. I was no genius after all.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Y/N,” he said.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sound of my name startled me and a stuttered out a yes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s your turn,” he explained never looking away from his brother.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh sure,” I replied and went to where the boys sat. Mycroft looked at me and I smiled awkwardly before biting my lip and averting my eyes. Looking over the stacks, I noticed one of the top cards was slightly askew. That must’ve been the one he just put down. It was a Dare card and I had a feeling Sherlock wanted me to pick it up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh enough games, Sherlock! Would you just open the file?!” Mycroft growled out.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sherlock put up his hand to silence his brother. “Let the girl have her turn would you? I think you’ll enjoy the game, brother dearest.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I quickly picked up the card and read it silently. Then I read it again to make sure I had read it correctly. I felt my face heat up as I reread Sherlock’s script along the bottom of the card.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright,” I nodded at the genius before taking a deep breath. I nearly missed Sherlock try to hide his smirk as I turned to face Mycroft.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” He asked, one eyebrow raised. I couldn’t believe I was about to do this, but I just let myself go. I leaned in and planted my lips on a very shocked Mycroft. His lips were soft against my own and I was reluctant to pull away.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He didn’t move as I stood straight again, only blinked twice before a flush bloomed on his face and neck. I heard John snort in disbelief from the kitchen. I flipped the card in my hand to Mycroft, the printed words scratched out and a new dare written on the bottom: Kiss Mycroft.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I could do it again if you’d like?” I tittered shyly, a blush of my own growing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I um, well-Please do look over that file Sherlock. I should be going.” Mycroft rose suddenly and made his way to the door. My heart began pounding heavily against my chest, and I felt my stomach drop at his eagerness to leave. When the door closed, I slumped into the chair Mycroft had been in and looked at Sherlock. He didn’t even look sorry. I felt tears welling in my eyes and the blatant rejection, but fought them. I would cry later, not in front of the boys.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That was cruel, Sherlock,” I muttered.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was tapping his fingers on the arm rest, and began counting down. “Three, two, one.” He pointed at my pocket at the exact moment my phone chimed. I pulled it out, a slight shiver running through me as I saw the text I had received.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>
      <b>This Saturday. 7 PM. Wear something as lovely as yourself.-MH</b>
    </em>
  </span>
</p>
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